#melodic techno

"Check dem indicators..." *foom chk-chk-chk-chk-chk*

"Count dem wheel-jerks..." *foom chk-chk-chk-chk-chk*

"And by all trucking means..." *chk, chk, chk—*

marshall dem cones.

The indicators flash and fade,

asphalt hums a well-worn hymn,

old exits rise in the lights—

neon-bled and fever-dim.

Roadwise,

reelin' 'eat 'ize...

delight o' wheels roll by.

A thousand times the wheel has jerked

pop-quick—off course—then swallowed in

to lose the mind in static dark,

where damp clings like another skin.

Unwind,

me and my mind...

*exit number nine flies by*

Faded orange detour cones

guard the places I once knew.

Pressing harder on the gas

only pulls the rearview through—(*hiss... foom*

warnings in the rain—

*vrrm...

whummm...

foom...

chk-chk...*

drive the chorus back again—*whine...

hiss...

hiss... foom...*)

My mind,

swervin' on align,

(what a terrible thing to cruise.)

White-knuckled on the outer rim,

the pacing heart outruns the gears,

blinding eyes to neon signs,

mileposts dot forgot'en years.

Deadline,

zip in to intwine...

*exit number nine flies by*

The mind's a stretch of blacktop bent

pit-STOCK—a rider up inside;

one quiet prayer keeps pointing north